Dear Jack Frost
by Triscribe
Summary: When one little girl learns about Jack Frost, and wants to request some snow from him, she does what any sensible child would: writes a letter, addresses it to the North Pole, and includes a note politely asking Santa to pass it on. A bit of cute, a bit of angst, and a bit of Jack gaining new believers - as well as learning to deal with the pain of losing them. Three-shot.
1. Chapter 1

_Dear Jack Frost,_

_My name is Rachel Faire and last week I turned eight years old. It's only November here in North Carolina, and we don't usually start seeing snow storms for a while longer, but... I was hoping you could stop by my town, Cooleemee, and give us a just little bit of snow before deep winter starts._

_See, last summer, my family and me went on a road trip, and one place we went to was a town in Ohio where I met a new friend named Sophie, and her big brother Jamie. They're the ones who told me about you, and now I'm really really really hoping they weren't messing with me._

_I don't know if you have an address of your own, so I'm gonna send this letter to the North Pole, and hopefully Santa can pass it along for me._

_Sincerely,_

_Rachel Faire_

_(P.S. I got my mommy to help me write this, because she says my first draft had the penmanship of a monkey. But monkey's don't write, so how would she know?)_

Chuckling as he read the postscript, Jack turned his grateful eyes up to a broadly grinning Nicholas St. North. "Thanks for getting this to me, North. It... It really means a lot."

"But of course!" The Russian boomed, clapping his fellow Guardian on the shoulder, and nearly sending the younger spirit tumbling. "And any time children are sending you letters, I will have yetis put them in your room, for safe-keeping."

"Thank you. Now, I've got a snow day to give Cooleemee, North Carolina!"

_Dear Jack Frost,_

_I don't know if you remember me from last year, but this is Rachel Faire again (quick question - do you get many letters? And do you have someplace of your own I should send them? Oops, that's two questions). I just turned nine, and for my birthday my best friend Devin got me this really cute beanie cap with pom-poms! It's just, the weatherman on TV said we aren't going to have snowfall any time soon. Do you think you can do something about that?_

_Actually, I don't really know if this works or not, but last year I wrote you a letter and then had THE best snow day ever (my sled went down the steep part of the hill we use, and I went across the road, under a barb wire fence and straight through Farmer Cordray's horse pasture! But it was okay, I ended up going into the snowdrift next to his barn). So, I really hope this works again, and that last time wasn't just a co-in-ce-dence._

_Sincerely,_

_Rachel Faire_

_P.S. This time, I'm writing my letter myself - I've gotten a lot better at making the words clear to read! _

Walking home from school, Rachel shivered as a cool breeze ruffled her black hair. Letting go of her backpack strap, the kid grasped the dangling pom-poms of her new hat and tugged it down a little lower on her head. And just in time, too - not a second later, she was struck by something small that exploded on impact.

"Hey!" Frowning, Rachel turned to glare at whoever had hit her, only to see an empty field. "Uh..."

A tiny, white shape drifted down in front of her eyes. Gasping, the girl held up her cupped hands, gently catching the delicate snowflake. Then, another. And another. Eyes widening, Rachel looked skyward, and grinned in delight at the sight of numerous snowflakes coming down from sudden grey clouds.

She glanced back down at her small handful, and then spotted more white on the grass in front of her. Crouching, Rachel gaped at the words, written in frost:

_Hi Rachel,_

_Good thing you told me about the beanie hat, or it might have taken me a while longer to find you. Y'know, you're the first person to write me letters, so your two are the only ones I've ever gotten, and sending 'em to the Pole is fine - Santa and I are on good terms._

_Of course your letter worked last year, who do you think guided your sled down the hill and into the horse pasture? Oh, and get ready for a snow day to be even better than the one last year._

_Your friend,_

_Jack Frost_

Rachel felt a sudden shift inside her, a mixture of glowing faith and indescribable joy. Then... She felt a tap on her shoulder.

_Dear Jack,_

_Well, it's that time of year again. Do you want to wish me a Happy Tenth Birthday?_

_I got a set of watercolor pencils this year from my dad, and I'm drawing/painting any and everything I can think of - including you! (I keeping the first one for myself, but the second picture I made is enclosed with this letter - I really hope you like it!)_

_My cousin Amelia is visiting us this weekend, and I want to finally convince her you're real. Do you think we can put on a really big show for her? Say, the back acre of my mom's farm on Saturday Night? Thanks!_

_Your friend,_

_Rachel Faire_

The letters kept coming for another three years - always one around Rachel's birthday, but more and more during the rest of the winter months. Sometimes they were requests for nice snow days, a few times to ask Jack to lessen a harsh, incoming storm, and surprisingly, a fair amount were just notes telling him about what she'd been up to lately. They always went to the North Pole, and were always left in the guest bedroom officially reserved for Jack.

And Rachel wasn't the only one, now. Her cousin had been the first, but gradually, other kids started writing him letters, too. Spreading outward from established believers in Cooleemee, North Carolina and Burgess, Ohio, more and more people started to write to Jack Frost. And with every request he responded to, another believer added to his strength.

Even with the growing pile of papers and envelopes that resided in his room, though, North made a point of placing letters from Rachel on the bedside table, where Jack could always read them first - and where he kept the stack that the girl had sent him over the years.

As is often said, though, all good things must come to an end.


	2. Chapter 2

It was the warmest winter Jack had dealt with in years, and not just because of natural weather patterns. Human population growth and energy consumption had been steadily growing for years, and a sudden heat spell was wreaking havoc in Antarctica. Working hard to keep the penguins and other animals going, it was almost a month before Jack managed to get back up to the other polar cap for a visit. His strength had flagged halfway up the globe, but the snow spirit attributed that to his passing over the equator. The first thing he'd done, upon arriving at North's workshop in the middle of the night, was crash on the cool mattress in his bedroom.

Jack slept for a little over twelve hours. And when the winter spirit finally woke up, the first thing to greet his tired eyes was a small pile of new letters from Rachel. Before opening any of the envelopes, Jack checked the dates on them, and then the calendar on his wall.

December 14th. Rachel's first letter of the season had come, as usual, the week after her thirteenth birthday, November 7th. The next one was a week after that, and the following four got closer and closer in time, the last from just five days before.

Weird.

Ripping open the paper, Jack grinned at his believer's usual words about what she'd gotten for her birthday, who'd been by to visit recently and what her family's plans were for the upcoming season. And at the very bottom, in the postscript after her signature, Rachel remembered to put in her standard request for a simple snow day.

The letter after that was just as lighthearted, though Rachel started with asking what he'd been up to, since the snow day hadn't happened yet. Wincing internally at that, Jack nonetheless read through it, and then opened up the next letter.

Rachel's penmanship was decidedly less neat, looking more like her looping handwriting as a nine year old. The were discolorations in the paper, too, which Jack worriedly realized were tear stains.

_Jack,_

_I feel absolutely awful for writing this, but the picture I was working on to send to you got taken by Teddy Johnson, and he called me a baby and a loser for believing in something as silly as a folktale. But I told him you're real, I swore on the stump of Old McMiller's hanging tree! Kids can't make a deeper oath around here than that!_

_Please Jack, I know you have to have been really busy these last couple weeks, but you've got to come NOW to prove Teddy wrong!_

_Rachel_

Despite the sinking feeling in his gut, and ignoring the urge to leap up right away to head to Cooleemee, Jack grabbed the next letter.

It's contents were even worse. Aparently, since he hadn't shown up within a few days, not only Teddy but some of Rachel's other classmates had continued to pick on and laugh at her. She'd written to Sophie Bennet in Burgess for support, and the pre-teen had apparently promised that Jack would come through when he could.

But after two more weeks of waiting and hoping, Rachel hadn't gotten a visit from the winter spirit. Her last letter, written in a scrawl that couldn't be called anything other than depressed, had Jack's hands trembling as they clutched the paper.

_Jack,_

_I think I know why you don't come anymore. It's because I'm a teenager now, isn't? Thirteen's got to be the cut-off date for kids believing in fairy tales, which makes sense._

_If... If I'm wrong, then please come to see me. If you aren't here by Friday... Then I guess I'll have to say goodbye._

_Rachel Faire_

Friday... Yesterday... The sudden loss of strength over the equator, he realized, hadn't been because of the warmth - it was because Rachel had stopped believing in him. She was the first person who'd started to be able to see him and then stopped - Jack hadn't recognized the sensation of losing a true believer.

He knew now, that it was the worst sensation in the world.

Ten years down the road, and Jack had grown more used to kids losing their belief - although, considering that many of them managed to still pass it on to younger siblings or relatives, his base of believers was still growing greater every winter. There were enough that he was kept pretty busy from October to March, though the spirit always made time to stop back home in Burgess, or visit Cooleemee when he had some spare time. Practically every kid in both towns believed in him, and a fair chunk of his letters came from them.

In fact, he'd begun getting so much mail that Jack often had to resort to taking some of it with him when he visited Jaime or Sophie Bennet.

"Why do I get the feeling you're just using us like North uses Yetis, or Bunny and his guard eggs?" Jaime grumbled one evening in his study while both he and Jack worked their way through a pile of letters.

"Oh, come on, I'm not that bad." The spirit's grin grew thoughtful after a moment. "Though, getting some official help might not be so bad. Maybe I should talk to Manny about it..." Jaime just shook his head, working open another envelope. He tended to take considerably more care than the winter Guardian, who usually just tore the paper without a second thought.

Reading the careful handwriting on the college-rule notebook paper in his hand, Jaime did a double take. "Uh, Jack..."

"Yeah?"

"... I think you need to read this one for yourself."

_Dear Jack Frost,_

_God, it's been years since I did this... I'm going to have to be careful none of my friends catch me at this, or it'll be middle school all over again..._

_Anyway. I don't know if you're actually real, or just something my imagination made up as a kid, but I recently saw some children having a snowball fight in a park near my apartment, and one of them called out "Beware, Nightmares! Jack Frost's gonna get you!" It was cute to watch, but got me thinking, and that evening I hunted through some boxes of old art pieces and supplies. When I found what I was looking for, and had the sudden urge to sit down and write this out._

_My son Timothy is going to have his very first winter this year, and the weather forecasts all agree we're going to have severe blizzards coming in the next few days. That's not the time for a baby to be experiencing his first snowfall._

_I'm pretty sure I used to address these things to the North Pole, and that's what I'll do again now. If it works... If you're real... Could you by any chance lessen the storms coming to hit Raleigh, North Carolina? And if you're around after that, keep your eyes peeled for a young woman in a worn old beanie cap with pom-poms, holding an infant with dark curly hair._

_Anxiously yours,_

_Rachel Faire_

"Aaaaand here comes Mommy!" Timmy giggled at her, his pudgy hands waving in the air as Rachel blew a raspberry on his belly. "Okay, baby boy! Time to get suited up for the outdoors!"

Not ten minutes prior, Rachel had watched with growing excitement as the weather outside her downtown apartment had undergone a dramatic change: The grim, dark grey cloud cover had lightened, the icy hail coming down changing into delicate snowflakes. Now, the young woman was preparing to take her infant outside, to let him learn just what the best part of winter was.

And a little while later, hearing Tim's delighted coos as she caught a snowflake on her mitten and depositing it on the tip of his nose was priceless. Rachel made her way to the nearby park, happy to see lots of kids and families out and enjoying the storm's change. Fluffy white snow had already come down enough to blanket the ground, allowing for ample snowballs and quite a few snowforts in their earliest stages.

Keeping one hand curled around the baby secured to her chest, Rachel reached up the other to absently tug her limp pom-poms and tug her old beanie hat down a little lower.

Not a moment later, something struck the back of her head and exploded on impact. "Hey!" Frowning at both the hit and her weird sense of deja vu, Rachel turned to glare at her attacker.

Except... She was standing close to the edge of the park, with no one behind her back to the handful of adult pedestrians braving the icy sidewalk. Timmy suddenly started giggling, reaching out at the empty space and grasping for something.

Something that Rachel couldn't see. Her breath coming a little quicker, the young woman slowly knelt and traced out a letter J on the loose snow before her. Almost as soon as her finger left the indentation, a second letter appeared beside it, this time and F. An old feeling of indescribable joy filled Rachel, new and yet familiar.

"Jack Frost..." She murmured in awe, before feeling a light tap on her shoulder. "I thought I'd imagined all of it..."

"Nah. Sophie should have set you straight on that part." Cautiously raising her head, the young woman took in the familiar sight of a teen wearing ragged brown pants, a bright blue hoodie, and an impish grin that would warn any parent of impending mischief. One of his hands held a wooden staff, twisted and well-used, while the other was conjuring tiny snowflakes right in front of Tim's face, causing the infant to giggle and grin. After a few moments, though, the teen dropped his grin and looked her right in the eye with a solemn expression.

"Rachel, I'm so sorry for giving you cause to doubt me. Your earlier letters had been right, I was just really busy, down at the South Pole the entire time you were trying to get in touch with me. I was only just on my way back when your deadline ran out, before I even knew about it."

Choking back a sob of relief, Rachel stretched out a hand, taking Jack's in her own grasp. "No, you have nothing to apologize for. I jumped to a conclusion, with no basis for it. Can you ever forgive me for doubting you?"

His smile returned, earnest and strong. "Absolutely."


	3. Chapter 3

For the four years after that, Rachel retained her restored belief, often writing letters to Jack whenever she had something to talk about, regardless of the time of year - her messages went to Jamie's family home Burgess, though, rather than the workshop in the North Pole. And Jack never failed to visit the Bennets at least once a week, both to play with the new generation of children in his long looked after family, and receive whatever mail Rachel may have sent.

But then, for almost a whole month, there wasn't any word from her. Getting worried, Jack took to the wind on one of his free evenings, heading down the East Coast towards North Carolina. Raleigh was a pretty big city, but he knew his way around, and especially the route to the apartment where Rachel and her son Tim lived.

When Jack arrived, the lights were out, which was a little surprising, considering the early hour. The shades were drawn, too, so when the winter spirit alighted on the tiny ledge outside the living room window, he had to tap on the glass and wait for someone to answer him.

Twenty minutes and several repeated knocks later, and Jack was still perched outside. Frowning, he dropped down to the ground and ran around the corner to the main entrance of the apartment building, slipping inside after a man in a long coat. Then, it was a challenge for Jack to keep his bearings as he worked his way up stairs and down hallways to get to the door he knew had to lead to the Faire's apartment. Touching the doorknob, Jack allowed some of his ice to creep into the keyhole, then grow into a perfect for the locking mechanism. With a wave of his hand, the winter spirit had the door unlock and open, stepping forward into the apartment.

It was completely empty. That lone fact brought Jack up short, staring in shock.

The soft, second-hand furniture was all gone; in the small kitchenette off to one side, he could see that the cabinets were open and devoid of their contents. Hesitatingly stepping over to one of the three other doors, Jack peered into what should have been Tim's room. It was as devoid of signs of life as the rest of the apartment - the bed with its star-patterned comforter and pillows was gone, along with the toy chest, clothes dresser, and the tiny desk and chair set where the little boy would sit and do his homework on nights like this.

Completely baffled, Jack stumbled back out to the main room, collapsing cross-legged on the dull brown carpet. He hadn't a clue what to do next. The Faire family was just _gone,_ without anything left for him to track them down by.

When he finally managed to drag himself back out of the apartment building and have the wind take him to the North Pole, the other Guardians didn't have any breakthrough ideas for him, either. The best plan they were able to come up with was to wait for some sign of Tim to appear - a letter to Santa, one of his teeth under a pillow, even for Sandy to catch metaphorical scent of him through the Dreamsand.

In the meantime, Jack returned to Burgess, where he related all of it to a distressed Jamie and Sophie. Since the younger of the two was on closer terms to Rachel, not to mention still being unmarried and without a family to look after, Sophie agreed to take a flight to Raleigh and see if she could track down the Faire family with human methods.

It was the best Jack could settle for.

And nine days later, they got something.

Sophie asked around with the neighbors of the apartment block, but not until she spoke with the management did she learn that a few weeks before, a small time moving company had arrived to back up everything in the Faire apartment and haul their belongings away. After that, she was directed to Rachel's workplace - a daycare center several blocks away. And there, a older woman was able to tell her that Ms. Faire had taken a few days of vacation time, to drive home and visit family. They hadn't heard from her since.

Renting a car and driving the route herself, Sophie didn't see any sign of the missing pair between Raleigh and Cooleemee. The young woman got to the residence of Rachel's aged parents, and there heard the horrifying truth.

On the night they'd been driving in, the Faire's car had been struck by a drunk driver. The man in the massive pick up truck only sustained a small head injury, and Tim had been secured in the back by his seatbelt. Rachel, though...

Rachel had been taken to the local hospital, suffering severe trauma and internal bleeding, and remained in surgery for many, many hours.

She hadn't woken up in the weeks since then.

And to make matters worse, instead of staying with his grandparents in Cooleemee, Tim's father, Micheal Karson, had taken custody of the boy, moving them both up to his ranch in New York.

The night after Sophie told him all of this, Jack flew up to the state to try and track down Rachel's son. Sandman went with the winter spirit, delivering dream sand as they went. After an hour of scouring the region, Sandy finally caught Jack's attention, directing him to a large house situated in the middle of several cattle pastures.

Gently, the Guardians came down outside a wide window lit only by a tiny bit of dreamsand. Jack felt his heart tighten as he peered inside, and spotted Tim curled up in the far corner of a massive four poster bed. The room was clearly more of a guest bedroom than meant for children, the far reaches of it barely illuminated by the dreamsand.

The worst thing he could see, though, was the little scene in gold that danced over Tim's dark hair: a trio of figures having a snowball fight - one smaller than the others, one of medium size and slim build, and the third biggest and clearly female.

_Dear Jack Frost,_

_I can remember my mom doing this a lot when I was a little kid, and she told me that if I ever wanted to write one myself, I could send it to the North Pole and Santa Claus would pass it on._

_Anyway... My name's Timothy Karson, though it used to be Tim Faire. My life got turned upside down a few years ago when my mom and I were in a car accident, and I got shipped up here to live with Father. It's... It's not so bad, some days, but there are also a lot of things pretty wrong up here._

_The kids at my private school never write letters to Santa, just wish lists for their parents. The church I go to never holds Easter Egg hunts, or anyone else for that matter. Father never lets me put my teeth that fall out under my pillow, either - he says if I want to get pocket change, there are more "sanitary" ways of going about it. There's nothing fun about living here - I've never even been able to have a snowball fight with anyone. About the only times I know I'm still a kid are when I'm dreaming..._

_Though, my biggest dream turned into a nightmare last week. You see... My mom finally passed away. She'd been in a coma for almost four years, so it wasn't like she was ever going wake up anyway..._

_I got to go down to North Carolina and see my grandparents and cousins for a couple days, because Mom's will had me as sole be-ne-fic-iary, which I think means I got everything that used to belong to the two of us. Grandma and Grandpa are going to sell most of the furniture and basic stuff for me, and since I already had most of my personal stuff with me, the only thing I really brought back was a box of Mom's old art supplies and projects. I've got to keep it in my closet, so that Father doesn't see and try to make me get rid of the art pieces. See... Most of what Mom made were drawings and paintings of all sorts of magical creatures. There are fairies, yetis, elves like in Santa's shop, walking eggs, and so on._

_My favorite couple of pictures, though, are each one of a kind. The first one is of a group, the most epic versions I've ever seen of Santa Claus, the Tooth Fairy, Sandman, the Easter Bunny, and, well, you. The other painting though, she made with watercolor pencils as a kid, and while it isn't nearly as good as the stuff she made as a grown-up, it's still one of my favorite portraits._

_... Um, coming back to the point of this letter. My Father told me when I first came here that I needed to grow up and stop believing in silly things like the people in Mom's pictures. But I'll be turning nine next week, and I really really really want something to mark it as special. The parties Father's thrown for me in the last few years have just been excuses for him to invite over business friends, and the kids who come never want to do anything fun._

_So, if we could get a snow day or something, not one too serious, just enough to keep anyone from coming over, so I can get outside and enjoy myself a bit, that would be awesome._

_Hopefully waiting,_

_Timmy Faire_

"Timothy! Get in here!"

"Coming, Father." Dragging himself down the hallway and stifling a yawn, the new nine year old entered the living room. "What's... up?"

"Look at this mess!" Outside the sliding glass door that opened onto the patio, Tim gaped at the winter wonderland that had most definitely _not _been there the night before. "I've already gotten calls from two of my clients, saying they aren't going to try and get their sports cars through all of that. I'm afraid today's party's going to have to be canceled..."

"Oh, that's okay, Father! Can, um, can I go out and... Uh, and check to make sure there isn't ice on the powerlines or anything?"

Micheal Karson frowned at his son's hopeful expression. "Why would you want to-? Oh, nevermind. That's fine, just keep out of the groundskeeper's way."

"Yes, sir!" In record time, Tim had retreated to his room, gotten dressed in cold weather gear, and hurried out the back door. The first few minutes he spent just looking around and admiring the patterns the frost had made over the house. Then, out of sight of any windows, he flopped backwards into a large pile of the white stuff, moving his arms and legs to make a snow angel. The imprint got a little smushed as the boy got back to his feet, but he felt it was a good first attempt.

Then something small hit the back of his head, bursting upon impact. "Hey!"

"Don't you need to be wearing a hat or something, Timmy?" A familiar voice asked. Tim whipped around, only to freeze and stare slack-jawed at someone he hadn't seen in years.

"Jack Frost...?"

"Who else?" The white haired teen smirked, then pulled something out of his hoodie pocket. "Here."

Catching the item thrown to him, Tim realized it was a worn old beanie hat, with ragged pom-poms hanging from either side. "What's this?"

Jack walked over and crouched next to the confused kid. "This was a present to your mother on her ninth birthday, several years ago. Her cousin Amelia had been holding on to it, but when I got your family together in Cooleemee to give them your letter, she insisted I bring it to you."

Tim felt his eyes tearing up as he ran gloved fingers over the old wool. "You... They read my letter? Really?"

"Yep, and I got news for you, Timmy - your grandparents are going to try and file for custody of you. Might take a while, because of the different states issue, but if some lawyer types show up here and ask, think you can tell them you want to go home?"

"More than anything." A few seconds later, Tim turned and threw his arms around Jack's neck. "Thank you. Thank you so much!" Chuckling, the teen let him stay there for a minute, before moving away and scooping up a handful of snow.

"Now... I might not be an expert on Birthdays, but I'm pretty sure at least _some _fun has to be involved. Think you're up for a snowball fight, little man?"

"Oh, you are so asking for it!" They both laughed, and spent the next couple hours forgetting all that had gone wrong with Tim's life, and just focusing on enjoying themselves a bit. After all, what better way was there to drive back the darkness of misfortune?


End file.
